


The Little Wolf and the Hawk: Reunion

by halla_lavellan



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Post-Here Lies the Abyss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-05
Updated: 2017-02-05
Packaged: 2018-09-22 04:28:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9583682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halla_lavellan/pseuds/halla_lavellan
Summary: Fenris wanders the mountains near Skyhold after learning of Hawke's death in the Fade. Hawke survives and finds him.





	

He was walking aimlessly through the mountains, having left the gates of Skyhold hours before. The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows along the ground where the sparse trees stood. He was dimly aware that he should return to the grounds - the days were short and dark, then, and he hadn’t brought adequate food or clothing with him - but he could barely feel the cold settling into his skin and stiffening his bones.

She was gone. How could she be gone? His woman, his fire, the first and only real thing he had touched since fleeing Danarius all those years ago - how could she be gone?

And so he wandered deeper into the mountains.

* * *

 He lived. But just barely. He had brought a bow, and so he hunted every so often, skinned a rabbit by a meager fire, ripped the fur from the flesh and the flesh from the bones. Dragged branches of pine needles to rocky outcroppings, sheltered himself from the worst of the snow. Tied a dagger to a long branch and fished, sometimes, treading barefoot into the water and letting his feet grow numb. He sometimes thought he heard Varric’s voice calling him, his name an echo between the trees and rocks. He covered his tracks and did not respond. He lived. But just barely.

His hair and fingernails grew long and sometimes he woke in the dark to nightmares, thinking he heard her screaming for him. His skin glowed in those moments and once he tore the red sash from his arm and cast it from him, reaching for the sky and screaming like a man broken. He soon stood and tied the sash back around his arm, though - her memory hurt more than any cut he had ever borne in battle, but forgetting her would be worse.

* * *

 He had never counted the days, but could tell by the changing weather that eight months or so had passed. He lived. But just barely. He hunted, he wandered, he fished, and he lost himself in memories. Her breath hot on his neck. Her fingers clutching him, her teeth on his skin. The cabin in the forest that they had made a home after the flight from Kirkwall. So long ago, now. He had thought about returning, but couldn’t bear to occupy the space without her.

He had been a ghost, lost, before her, and he was lost without her now.

* * *

 It was night and he was standing in the river when he heard it. His name. Her voice. He shook his head, violently, casting it out. It happened, sometimes - he had even read it in one of the books she had used to teach him to read - in solitude and silence the mind sends voices to occupy itself.

_Fenris._

Again. He dropped his spear into the water and reached up to rub his ears, willing the voice away.

A noise in the wood behind him. A bear, perhaps. He saw them occasionally; they paid each other no mind, usually, but he turned anyway.

_Hawke._

Standing before him on the riverbank, bow dropping from her hand, skin framed in moonlight. He thought how odd it was that he was seeing her, but he dreamed of her so often that he knew it must be a new strain of his madness.

But that scar…

She had a new scar gashing her left cheek. It had healed badly, pulling her eyelid down, partially obscuring her eye. That scar was new.

The ghost dropped to her knees and reached a hand out.

_Fenris. I’ve been looking for weeks._

He frowned and took a step towards her. No part of him believed she could be real.

But he moved forward, slowly, spear long forgotten in the water behind him.

The ghost remained, hand hanging in the air, waiting.

He came near to her and slowly, so slowly, raised his fingers to meet hers.

Touched.

His knees buckled and he collapsed into the river, lacing his fingers with hers, skin warm against skin even as his legs and chest lost feeling in the water.

_Are you here?_

She pulled his hand to her throat and laid it against her heartbeat. _I’m here. I’ve been looking for you. You should get out of the water._ A choking laugh.

He rose and took her other hand, stepped out of the river, pulled her to stand in front of him - their eyes locked briefly - and then suddenly he was touching her everywhere, and she was touching him - mouth against mouth and mouth against skin - and she collapsed into him and sobbed, once, and he knew that she was real - for she showed weakness so rarely that his memories could barely conjure it -

His breath ragged as he pressed his forehead into her neck and they held each other up, but just barely - a thousand questions that needed to be asked, but not now, not now - he clutched her face in his hands and pressed his mouth to hers, hungry, she was alive, gods, she was here -

And soon they sank to the ground, both breathing heavily, pressed together everywhere their bodies could touch. She touched his neck gently, lay her cheek against his, whispered.

_Ready to get out of the cold?_

He barked a short laugh, nodded stiffly.

_Good. Let’s go home._


End file.
